A Friend in You
by Celesma
Summary: As the day of the Saiyans' arrival on Earth draws ever nearer, Piccolo finds himself denying his growing friendship with Gohan. Can a lesson in bukujutsu and the indomitable spirit of one small boy convince him otherwise?
1. Chapter One

A/N: Piccolo and Gohan grow closer while attempting to master the sacred art of flying. Takes place during the Saiya-jin saga, in which our two favorite Z Senshi are training to take on the baddies in the form of Nappa and Vegeta. Quite fluffy by my standards, but I had fun writing it. Enjoy!

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_**"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive; and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."**_

_**Anais Nin**_

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**A Friend in You**

**Chapter One**_**  
**_

Jagged streaks of violet rippled and slashed along an otherwise undisturbed night sky, giving the impression of a painting that had been gradually torn apart. A cloud of dust, propelled by gentle winds, came to settle across the broad expanse of desert lying below. Only a few hours ago this arid wilderness had been the earthly equivalent of hell: a harsh, blazing wasteland, scorched endlessly and without mercy by the sun's rays. Later, though, when the sun at long last retired – no doubt to devastate countless other lands – darkness fell, and a blessed coolness followed. It was at that time that the jagged streaks appeared in the sky, gilding it as a wooden frame would a photo. To any stargazer they would have resembled lightning bolts, but not in the sense that they were frightening. If anything, they seemed benevolent and comforting.

Coupled with the evening stars, the scene could have almost passed for romantic. The only thing lacking now, for reasons only a handful of people in the world would ever know, was a full moon.

It was for this fact that Piccolo was wildly grateful.

The demon continued to float in midair with his legs crossed, meditating while keeping one eye always on the child sleeping on the ground below him. Since his concentration was occupying two places at once, however, he supposed it couldn't really be called meditation. _Babysitting, more like,_ he thought bitterly as he watched the boy shift spasmodically in his sleep, whimpering a silent appeal for protection against unseen specters.

"Pathetic," Piccolo murmured to himself, though deep in his soul he knew it was not true. Son Goku's whelp – he refused to call the boy by his real name, which was Gohan – may have appeared to possess a fragile, easily shattered exterior, but lying dormant within was a beast so terrifying, so overwhelmingly _powerful_ that Piccolo often shuddered to think of it. He knew for himself; he'd been witness to both times the monster behind the child's innocent façade had burst loose, broken free of its bondage as a slave removes an iron collar.

_And I'm trying to harness this power, gods help me._

Piccolo smiled wryly despite the bleak thought. Once he got the brat's strength under control – and there _was_ a way, of that the demon was certain – then he and Gohan would have no problem eradicating the threat that was due to arrive in three months' time.

The Saiya-jins.

The demon would have dwelt further on this encouraging thought but for the wracked, high-pitched sobs of the boy, who was now half-awake and convulsing in pain, begging for help in a strangled voice. Piccolo snarled in annoyance, toyed with the idea of leaving the brat to mewl by himself. Yet he knew Gohan had good reason to do so – the child had contracted terrible sunburns during their sparring session that afternoon, leaving him drained and feverish. Even now, with the cool, crisp winds blowing over his body, the burns had not improved.

_"Daddy... please, help me..."_

Piccolo's eyes narrowed contemptuously as an unfamiliar emotion passed over him. Well, maybe not completely unfamiliar, he reasoned. He had been feeling it for quite some time now in these past few months, particularly whenever Gohan made fond mention of Son. It frustrated the demon to no end that he couldn't identify these feelings, couldn't put a name to them. It frustrated him even more to think that he should experience any sort of emotion around Gohan that wasn't an automatic desire to throttle the little brat's neck.

Gohan's moaning grew worse, so much that he lost track of his thoughts. Checking a sigh, Piccolo swooped down to where the boy lay. He knelt by his side tentatively, as if Gohan's condition was contagious and the demon feared to catch it.

"Where does it hurt, boy?"

Gohan raised his head slowly, as if to do so exerted every ounce of his strength. For a moment his eyes seemed to gaze straight through Piccolo, unseeing, unrecognizing. Then he blinked, and they misted over in tearful relief. "Everywhere," he whispered.

Piccolo said nothing. He tore off a section of his cloak, dipped it in a gourd of water sitting nearby, and began to wipe off the child's face and forehead. Earlier, he'd simply instructed Gohan to use the water jug himself whenever the pain of his burns became too great (which was quite often, and had very nearly drained the gourd of most of its water), but now that the boy proved too weak to do even _that_...

As Piccolo continued to cool Gohan's body with the wet cloth, he grew more and more conscious of himself. He – the one known as the Demon King, the Incorruptible Evil, whose very name sent throngs of humans into a mad panic – was actually tending to an infant as if he were no more than a... than a nursemaid! It was insulting.

Still, there was no other way around it, he argued with himself. If he _didn't_ minister to Gohan, then the brat would most certainly die, and along with him would die any hope of defeating the Saiya-jins. Firmly convinced that it was for this reason alone he did what he did, the demon left the cloth to soak on Gohan's forehead. He rose to his feet and began to trudge away, fully intent on returning to his meditation.

"Wait, Mister Piccolo..."

Piccolo paused, turned to look behind him. Gohan's eyes, which had for the most part remained closed while the demon had been bathing his body, were now open, communicating with him pleadingly. "Please... please sit with me."

Piccolo stared; the request had seemingly left him at a loss for words.

"It's just for a little bit," Gohan said, sensing his reluctance. "Please... just till my burns feel a little better..."

Piccolo remained silent for long moments before he finally gave in and nodded. "A... all right." He sat down in the dust next to Gohan, feeling awkward and clumsy – and then, angry at himself for allowing such mental vulnerability.

"Thank you," Gohan rasped. In spite of the agonizing pain he must have been suffering through, he smiled brightly at Piccolo.

Piccolo felt a sensation right then – one he'd never experienced before in his life – a sort of warmth that coursed through his chest, eased his anxiety. He began to calm down and then, without meaning to, thought that he should very much like to see Gohan smile again. Promptly upon realizing this the demon flushed a deeper shade of green, attempted frantically to clear his mind of such sentimental nonsense. He avoided the boy's gaze.

"...Do you ever feel lonely, Mister Piccolo?" Gohan suddenly asked.

Oh, gods. _Here comes yet ANOTHER stupid discussion about nothing,_ Piccolo thought, the alien emotions disappearing in a flare of annoyance. The demon could not for the life of him understand what Gohan saw in babbling on and on about things that, in the long run, wouldn't benefit him in any tangible way. Only yesterday the boy had launched into some ridiculous spiel about guardian angels and how every person on earth supposedly had some dead being watching over him from above. It was when Gohan said "I bet you have a guardian angel too, Mister Piccolo!" that the demon's patience had finally snapped and he hurled the brat into a mountain. Someday, Piccolo promised himself, he was going to stamp that nonsense out of the boy for good. "No, I don't," Piccolo responded to Gohan's question coolly, inwardly praying that that would close the discussion once and for all.

It didn't. "How come?" Gohan asked, furrowing his little brows together in curiosity.

_"Because,"_ Piccolo returned irritably. "Now would you please shut up and go to sleep." It wasn't a request.

"How come?" Gohan repeated. Damn the little bastard's persistence...! "Tell me."

"Because I don't believe in that sort of rubbish!" Piccolo snarled. He glared at the boy, hoping his furious stare would deter further interrogation.

Gohan did hesitate, but only for a moment, and soon he was advancing into his next query. "Uh, but..."

"But _what_?"

"Don't you ever wish you had someone to talk to?" With this Gohan inclined his head slightly, glanced meaningfully at the demon.

Piccolo opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it – apparently struck speechless for the second time that night. Grasping clumsily for a scathing reply or perhaps some form of death threat, the demon finally managed to follow up Gohan's question with: "_You're_ here, aren't you? What with all that jabbering you do – "

"No, before," Gohan gently interjected. "Before... before I met you and all this stuff with the Saiya-jins happened. You didn't have any friends then?"

Piccolo sighed heavily in frustration. "There was no need."

"Oh... well, that's okay." Gohan smiled brightly, and Piccolo felt that accursed warmth tingle in his veins once more. With an obvious effort, the boy rose to his feet, wrapped his small arms around the demon's waist. "I'M your friend now, at least!"

Piccolo bit back a startled yelp at this unanticipated move, stared down at Gohan in confused bewilderment. Fortunately for the demon (or perhaps not so fortunately) Gohan had also buried his head in his chest, so the boy couldn't see the stunned expression on Piccolo's face.

The demon's first, immediate instinct was to shove the brat away, deny vehemently that they were even casual _companions_, much less friends.

But he found he couldn't do it. Such behavior would upset Gohan, tear his heart in two – and for some unfathomable reason Piccolo didn't think he could bear to see the child unhappy. That, and also because he realized (to his untimely horror) that he was actually kind of beginning to enjoy the feeling of being hugged...

"Oh, and don't feel bad," Gohan whispered in a small voice before the demon could get a word out. He looked wary, as if he were about to confide in Piccolo a great secret. "I didn't have any friends then, either."

"You... didn't?" Piccolo asked before he could stop himself. _What the hell, you baka!_ Mentally he kicked himself for playing down to the boy when he would have done better ignoring him.

"No," Gohan said, and the demon noticed a faint glimmer of tears in his eyes. "I dunno why, either. I think it was the tail." Slowly he let go of Piccolo, indicated with a shaking hand the fuzzy Saiya-jin tail protruding from his backside. "It scared people away, I guess. At my preschool, even. The other kids always avoided me." He fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was tinged with sorrow. "Some of them teased me. There were even a couple of times when they..." He trailed off, unable to continue.

"Did they hurt you?" Piccolo spoke so softly that he might well have been whispering.

Gohan faced him, twisted his face into what was undeniably a very fake smile. "Only a little." Then he put his head into his lap, as if he were going to cry any moment and didn't want Piccolo to see the tears. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

Anger stirred within Piccolo despite himself. "I don't understand," he snarled. "How could Son allow you to be treated this way? And his own son, of all people...!"

"Oh, Daddy didn't know," Gohan remarked dismissively. "I never told anyone. You're the first. Hey." He lifted his head, stared at Piccolo with such intensity that the demon began to feel uncomfortable. "You're upset about that, aren't you? Then that means you really _do_ care about me!"

_"Please,"_ Piccolo snorted, though inwardly he was alarmed to see how quickly the boy was catching on. "And you shouldn't dwell over what happened in the past, anyway. It's stupid."

"But..." Gohan's mouth creased into a puzzled frown. "That's what _you're_ doing, isn't it? Aren't you always wanting to do what your daddy before you wanted you to? To kill my daddy?"

Piccolo scowled. "That isn't the same thing – " he started to argue.

"Yes, it is," Gohan pointed out. "You told me it was his last wish for you, and since then you've been trying your whole life to do what he wanted."

"Well, I did it," Piccolo growled softly. "Son's dead. And when the Saiya-jins are dead, too, you can bet I'm going to try and reclaim the earth for myself." As he spoke, however, he found his conviction in this belief faltering more and more.

Gohan sniffled dejectedly. "Even if your best friend asked you not to?"

"I am _not_ your friend," Piccolo replied flippantly. He waited for Gohan to make some incessantly whiny comment, but the boy simply rolled over on his back, said no more. It filled the demon with overwhelming relief, yet also – strangely enough – an immense sadness.


	2. Chapter Two

**A Friend in You**

**Chapter Two**

The silence that followed was full and deep – for there was simply no other way to describe it. It was comfortable, much like the silence that falls between two companions after a long and heatedly animated conversation, each remaining quiet so as to mentally digest the other's information. The only sounds to be heard in the desert – or at least, all those sounds audible to Piccolo's sensitive ears – were those of the chill winds sweeping briskly over the sand, the muffled shriek of a wolf baying at where there had once been a moon (prior to Piccolo's destroying it), the weak rattling of Gohan's lungs as he softly drew breath...

_Gohan..._

Piccolo bared his fangs, clenched his fists tightly, so much that the nails bit into his palms and drew blood. _Why?_ he silently screamed at himself. Why couldn't he get the damnable brat out of his mind? There was something about Gohan, something so infectiously compelling that Piccolo always felt – despite his best inhibitions – naturally drawn to the boy, as if his entire existence had been all for naught up until this point. The idea frightened the demon, and at the same time filled him with excitement such as he'd never experienced before.

For, after all, Piccolo had always felt the pivotal moment of his bleak life – the one bound to turn everything around – would occur in the instant he carried out his father's dying wish: when he killed Son Goku. And he _had_ done as much, yes. It was when the fool Saiya-jin had latched onto his older brother Raditz to prevent him from escaping, had promptly yelled to Piccolo in a hoarse voice to fire the _Mankankosappo_ that would snuff both their lives.

_Idiot!_ the demon had believed then, knowing only too well of what was to come and exulting in it; here, at long last, was his chance to do away with his rival, the one obstacle keeping him from taking control of the world!

Yet, even as he fired the death-dealing beam of flame, Piccolo felt an uneasiness pervade the back of his mind. Surely Son knew what his fate would be, didn't he? Why, after all the effort the warrior had expended in defending himself against Piccolo in their deadly match at the _Tenkaichi Budokai_, was he just now allowing the demon to kill him? It frankly made no sense, and that's why Piccolo wasn't much surprised when, after Son was dead and gone (and _smiling_, no less!) he was left feeling empty, a shell devoid of any of the satisfaction and exhilaration he believed he so rightly deserved.

And then there was Gohan...

Piccolo growled, trying to banish all thoughts of the boy from his mind and failing miserably. When they'd first met, Piccolo had been less than enthusiastic about the prospect of training Gohan, and rightfully so: the spoiled, pampered brat's only useful abilities seemed to consist of crying, eating, and generally whining on a regular basis. (Needless to say, Piccolo hardly deemed those abilities useful.) It was almost laughable to think this child was related to Son Goku in any way, shape, or form.

Yet as time wore on, Piccolo realized that there was something of Goku's spirit in the boy – if not a particular lust for combat, then certainly the pure, untainted spirit that resonated from the child's core, flowing as freely as a warrior's unfettered _ki_. It was innocence, Piccolo thought with a start. It was this innocence that so irresistibly drew the demon to Gohan, this shining beacon of light that so contrasted with the dark shadows of hopelessness he was accustomed to. It was something Piccolo did not have, did not possess – and as such, he was fascinated by it.

It appeared Piccolo wasn't the only one who felt this way, either. Gohan, for his part, continued to be amazed by Piccolo's constant pessimism and his cynical outlook on life – but instead of just learning to cope with it, the boy tried to change it. Many a time came when Gohan would try to befriend Piccolo, meekly suggest they go fishing or look for constellations, and maybe it wouldn't hurt if we took a little picnic in that nice foresty area just once, Mister Piccolo?

At first the demon violently rebuffed Gohan's attempts at comradeship – had once even warned the boy, in no uncertain terms, that if he _ever_ brought up the subject of bird-watching again his life would be immediately forfeit – but now when Gohan pleaded with him for something, a small part of the demon relented. Oh, he still refused to do what Gohan wanted (_that_ was a given), but now he felt considerably guiltier about it.

Damn it. This would never do...

Piccolo transferred his gaze to Gohan, his heart growing heavier with each passing moment. What had the boy done to him? He'd changed Piccolo in ways the demon couldn't imagine – lessened his desire to rule the world, melted the icy exterior surrounding his person. Somehow without his knowing it, Gohan had burrowed a path into Piccolo's heart, like a worm burrowing its way to the core of an apple.

And worms, Piccolo thought grimly, had to be crushed.

Slowly, ever so slowly – so that Gohan would not hear or sense any movement – the demon extended his forearm, prepared a tiny sphere of _ki_ in his palm. The sphere pulsed and throbbed with strength, but otherwise appeared indiscernible in the darkness. Gritting his teeth, Piccolo began to move the tiny globe of energy in such a way so that it was aiming straight at the boy's unprotected back.

The globe, once fired, would shatter Gohan's spine, pierce his heart and kill him instantly. Piccolo knew this, and he hesitated. He didn't really want to kill the boy, but he had to rid himself of these feelings he had somehow acquired. How the hell else was he supposed to do that? Certainly the Saiya-jins would pose an infinitely greater threat with Gohan gone, but it would all be worth it if it meant the demon could return to his former, cruel self. Besides, Piccolo tried to convince himself, he'd been wasting his time trying to train a child when he should have been improving upon his own strength instead.

_Gohan will never know what hit him, anyway... probably won't feel any pain at all –_

"Hey, Mister Piccolo..." Gohan's voice, muffled and heavy with fatigue, unwittingly interrupted the demon's monologue.

Piccolo froze. The sphere of _ki_ he had been preparing to release remained suspended above his palm, inactive for the time being. "Y... yes?" he said, feeling foolish and wondering why he didn't just do away with the kid right then and there.

Gohan yawned wide; the demon fought to suppress a wince as his jaw cracked with the strain. "You... you were just kidding... when you said we weren't pals... right?"

Piccolo said nothing at all. He could already feel the energy globe changing and distorting rapidly in his hand; if he didn't fire this thing soon, it would cease to exist altogether.

"Mister Piccolo?" Gohan repeated, more alert now. There was a hint of rigid desperation in his tone.

_Do it, do it now!_ a voice within Piccolo shrieked. But his body was refusing to comply with his thoughts; instead his muscles tensed and bunched with dreadful nervousness. "Y... yes," he muttered at last. "I was."

"That's good," Gohan said, a note of relief in his voice. And then – with no prior warning whatsoever – the boy began to crawl toward Piccolo, clambered into the demon's lap as if he were no more than a baby bird that had been plopped into a nest. "Thank you. You're nice," were the last words he murmured before he rested his head on Piccolo's chest and drifted off into slumber.

And that was all.

Piccolo stared uncomprehending at Gohan's sleeping form, not daring to draw a breath until well over a minute had gone by. Then, reaching out tentatively – all desires of destroying the boy utterly extinguished by this point – he smoothed back Gohan's bangs, warily tousled the soft black tufts of hair.

The _ki_ sphere dimmed and died; tendrils of light that were holding it together disengaged from one another, went snaking into the atmosphere, whereupon they were never seen again.


	3. Chapter Three

**A Friend in You**

**Chapter Three**

With the arrival of the dawn came the sun, and accompanying it was a sweltering, terrible heat that induced a lightheaded state in all unfortunate enough to fall within its range. The night's cool winds were banished – replaced with thick, suffocating clumps of dust whose only purpose seemed to consist of driving the inhabitants of the desert mad.

It was the heat that awoke Gohan; the first thing he did upon reaching consciousness was to raise a hand to his forehead, wipe away the sweat running in rivulets down his face.

A shadow fell over the boy. Gohan glanced up stupidly at the figure standing before him, blinking constantly as his eyes tried to gradually accustom to the change. "Whozat?" he murmured sleepily.

The figure didn't say anything. In fact, the only response Gohan got was a swift kick in the face; the pain and shock immediately snapped the child into wakefulness. Within moments he was back on his feet, reacting with the nimbleness and agility of a feline. He whirled around, expecting to see a monstrous creature of some sort, but he only saw...

"Mister Piccolo!" Gohan cried, his throat hitching painfully as he faced the demon.

Piccolo glared down at him. "You. Me. Spar. _Now_."

Oh, but of _course_. Gohan groaned audibly, spat out a bloody tooth that had dislodged in his jaw when he'd been kicked. At this rate, the boy lamented, he'd have no more teeth by the time they were to battle the Saiya-jins.

At first the boy hadn't been able to handle Piccolo's "wakeup calls" (or so named by the demon; Gohan privately saw them as "rude awakenings," a fact he never dared to mention aloud), had wept long and loudly whenever a painful knock to the head or a particularly brutal kick in the back awoke him. As time passed, however, Gohan found that he was almost used to these morning assaults. The question on the forefront of Gohan's mind – was he in fact getting stronger, or was Piccolo actually beginning to let up on him?

A fist lashed out violently, caught Gohan in the stomach. The boy fell to his knees and began to retch until he was sure he had thrown up everything inside him, from the top of his head to the bottom of his boots.

Well. Whatever the reason, it sure wasn't the latter.

The brawl continued, with Piccolo relentlessly heaping abuse after abuse onto the boy and Gohan just barely able to adequately defend himself, much less fight back. After a good half-hour had been spent in this manner, the demon chose to stop the battle – apparently having finally taxed his body to the limit, as evidenced by the strained, harsh whisper in which he called halt. Gohan wasn't much better – he'd collapsed in a heap the moment he saw it was safe to do so, secretly swearing to himself he'd never move another muscle for the rest of his life.

"That's an improvement over yesterday, I'll admit," Piccolo said. At this Gohan raised his head (effectively breaking the aforementioned vow) and regarded his teacher with silent astonishment. "But you lack technique, boy. Has nothing I have taught you yet penetrated that thick skull of yours?"

Gohan rose to his feet, brushed away dust that had accumulated on his trousers during the fight. "I'm sorry, Mister Piccolo. It won't happen again. I'll do better, I promise!"

"See that you do," Piccolo returned sternly. "In any case, there is still much more for you to learn. Today I am going to teach you the art of _bukujutsu_ – that is, presuming you don't mess that up, as well."

_"Bukujutsu..."_ Gohan frowned, translating in his head. "Flying. Hmm." Then a sudden spasm of horror passed over his features. "Oh, no," he moaned, burying his face in his hands, "you can't teach me to fly, Mister Piccolo! You just can't!"

"Why the hell not?" Piccolo growled. Really, this was too much, even for _Gohan_...

"I'm just scared of doing it, is all," the boy explained in muffled tones. "I mean, I don't have anything against flying, really I don't, sir, but I just can't do it unless someone like Daddy's there to make sure I don't fall. And, well, he's dead so I guess he really can't do anything there... and I actually DID fall one time, did you know that? It was when me and Daddy were riding on the _Kinto'un_, and I fell asleep and rolled off the side and so he had to – "

"SHUT UP!" Piccolo thundered. "I couldn't care less about your idiotic sob story! Now I am going to teach you to fly, whether you damn well like it or not!"

Gohan bowed his head; his eyes filled with unshed tears. "Yes, sir," he blubbered, trying to conceal his sorrow and having a miserable time of it.

Piccolo felt a painful lump arise in his throat. He swallowed hard, almost considered – for an instant – apologizing to Gohan. He decided against it. "Come with me," he said lamely, ushering the boy to a grove of trees where the sun didn't shine nearly so brightly upon their heads.

Gohan settled cheerfully onto a pile of scented leaves (tears lost in the midst of curiosity, the demon noted with some degree of thankfulness) while Piccolo instructed him on how to fly, demonstrating the more difficult portions himself. This task proved relatively simple, since Gohan was an intelligent child who absorbed information as easily as a sponge absorbs water.

"So it's all about _ki_ control. Right. I understand." Gohan nodded rapidly, self-assured in his newfound knowledge. Suddenly his face fell. "But I'm still scared to try."

"I'm not going to let you fall," Piccolo growled.

Anyone else would not have found this exactly reassuring, but Gohan did. His face brightened. "You promise?"

"Yes..."

"'Ho_kay_, then!" Gohan leaped out of the leaves, placed his hands on his hips while assuming what he hoped was a Brave and Daring Expression. It must have been, for a corner of Piccolo's mouth twitched in what might have passed for a ghost of a smile.

Feeling immensely cheered by this, Gohan closed his eyes and began to concentrate...

...and in doing so, he ignored everything around him. It wasn't hard at all; Piccolo had shown him how to meditate a long time ago, shown him how to clear his mind of all but one objective. He ignored the dust swirling about his face, threatening to enter his nose and choke him. He ignored the dry leaves that fell from the unsteadily swaying trees before settling upon his shoulders. He ignored the sand beneath his boots, the sweat trailing down his skin...

Suddenly he realized his feet were no longer touching the ground.

Utterly loathe to open his eyes at this point, Gohan bit back a shriek of terror and tried to maneuver his way back to the ground. Completely abandoning all earlier attempts to bring his _ki_ under control, the boy clawed and grasped at the air in a crazed effort to reach the relative safety of the surface.

No such luck; he was stuck. This was mostly due in part to that whenever he tried to scrabble (for it could only be called scrabbling) away from... from wherever it was he was supposed to be hovering, he would only float right back to that undesirable spot – like a yo-yo returning to its owner, he thought with much chagrin.

Gohan briefly considered calling to Mister Piccolo for help, but the words were barely on the boy's lips before he quickly changed his mind, meekly imagining the irritation his mentor would surely express should he dare to do such a thing. In Piccolo's mind only babies called for help, and Gohan was determined to prove that he was no baby.

Thoughts of this goal fresh in his mind, the boy valiantly endeavored to right himself so that his feet were aligning perfectly with the ground. "Okay, so I'll just _will_ myself down," he said rather unnecessarily. "Can't be too hard."

Before he could do just that, however, Gohan found he couldn't resist sneaking a peek through his eyelids to see just how far up he had risen. Craning his neck so that the ground was within his sights, he opened his eyes slowly, gazed warily through the slits...

A bowel-twisting, gut wrenching fear enveloped Gohan upon the realization that he had gone far, far too high for his liking. The grove of trees where Piccolo had been giving him his _bukujutsu_ lessons only moments before now appeared little more than a green speck set against a bright yellowish backdrop. Scattered here and there upon the giant, apron-esque expanse were a great many rock formations – or so Gohan supposed they were, seeing how they more so resembled lumps of hard candy than majestic mountains. Inhaling sharply, the boy tried to rid himself of his disconcerting terror, but it was too late. The gravity of the situation sunk in with all the abruptness of a slap to the face, and he began to fall.


	4. Chapter Four

**A Friend in You**

**Chapter Four**

Insanely enough, the only thought that managed to penetrate the boy's terrified mind as he fell through the air, arms and legs pinwheeling wildly, was that at long last he was going to see his father again. He squeezed his eyes shut, waited in horrible anticipation for the bloody _splat_ that would follow when his body struck the ground...

It never came.

Instead strong arms reached out, caught him up as easily as if he were but a sack of flour. Sobbing, Gohan clung tightly to his rescuer, his body shaking erratically from the overpowering realization of just how close he had come to death.

"_Honestly_, Gohan," a voice cut in irritably above his whimpers. "Did you think I was lying when I said I wouldn't let you fall?"

Gohan's head snapped up; the tears continued to stream down his face unhindered. "Mister Piccolo...?"

"Indeed," the demon returned. He spoke in a tone that expressed utmost disgust – yet, Gohan could still recognize the underlying concern in his mentor's voice.

"You saved me," the boy said when they were both perched safely on the ground.

"Yes, and I'm beginning to regret that I did," Piccolo snarled. The demon's perpetually grumpy demeanor seemed to have returned in full force. "You'd think that after nearly falling to your doom you'd actually remain a bit subdued; but _no,_ of course you go right along blabbering – "

"Stop it," Gohan said. "You can stop pretending you don't like me, Mister Piccolo. I know the truth now." He grinned, and in that moment Piccolo was infuriatingly reminded of his arch-rival.

"And _what_," he snapped, hoping to find a reason to wipe the obnoxious smile from his pupil's face, "would ever give you that idea?"

The smile didn't go away. "It's easy," Gohan explained. "Back up there when you rescued me. You called me 'Gohan.' You've never done that before."

"C... come again?"

"When you rescued me," Gohan repeated. He spoke as if trying to explain to a small child, which needless to say didn't do a thing to improve the demon's ill humor. "You called me 'Gohan.' Before it was always 'boy' or 'whelp' or 'brat,' but never... never Gohan. Never my real name..." Suddenly the boy sank to his knees, as though overwhelmed with pain.

"What's wrong?" Piccolo cried, wondering if perhaps the boy hadn't suffered some sort of injury after all. Rushing forward in what could have almost been deemed a protective gesture, the demon began to examine Gohan.

Gohan promptly held up a slightly wavering yet steady hand, signaled for Piccolo to stop. "No... no, it's okay," he said, as Piccolo looked on helplessly. "It's... it's just" – he raised his head, stared up at the demon with tear-glistening eyes – "it's just that I'm so happy!"

For long moments Piccolo did not speak. Then he reached out – no longer self-conscious or hesitant – and ruffled his pupil's tufted, unkempt hair. "You know what?

"So am I."

_The End  
_


End file.
